WINTER OF 1342, A Yule Story
by Amralume
Summary: A Year after the BoFA Thorin is ruling over Erebor with his nephews. Bilbo has gone back to Bag End, feeling like he wasn't wanted by the dwarves, especially one in particular - Yule is coming, and Bilbo has no plans to celebrate it, not until a certain King Under the Mountain comes with his companions to make amends and to finally tell his burglar how he truly feels about him.
1. Beyond Grief

Hey there, been a while since I've uploaded a new story, I was feeling festive so I decided to write a melancholic little piece about love and despair, and whatever may come of it!

Hope you enjoy and HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

* * *

 **WINTER OF 1342,** a Yule story

 _ **CHAPTER I,** Beyond Grief and Sorrow_

Bilbo was sitting comfortably on his armchair, leaning deeper into the soft pillowy cushions. It was the first Yule after the Quest and he held a warm cup of tea in his hands. Bilbo smiled as he could feel warmth spreading through him, from his fingertips through the muscles of his arms and into his heart and from there through his veins into the very furthest bits of his hairy feet. It was a cup of his best green tea, a cup of liquid love.

Outside it was snowing heavily, flakes were racing against each other, fast, hard in the cold wind. A lonely figure was fighting to stay standing in the harsh weather, slowly but surely moving through the banks of snow that no one had cleaned in days. Embarrassment for sure to many a folk in the Shire, however to hobbits such as Bilbo Baggins, things like a clean pathway to his house mattered little to none anymore, not after Erebor.

The weather was getting worse and worse, the little flurry from the morning was turning into a blizzard. Soon there would not even be a path up. Just a steep hill of snow. Lots and lots of snow. Bilbo only hoped that he wouldn't completely be burrowed inside because while it kept unwanted quest outside, he— he was hoping that perhaps some more wanted company would come by—- which was unlikely of course,

he knew better than that.

All year he had been waiting for someone to drop by, well ever since May anyway. Or more so after July—- it had taken a while, a long while to get everything back. All of his things, his mother's things, things that had been in the family for years had been spread all around Shire. It had taken a lot of knocking on doors and spreading rumours of terrifying dwarves and dragons who'd come and take what's his back from anyone owning any piece of Bag End, but not everything had been regained. Bilbo supposed that he'd never see his favourite dining chair or the wine his great great great grandfather Buffon Boffin had bottled hundreds of years ago. It was fine red wine as well, a special recipe that had been lost during the Great Winter of S.R. 1158. Legend had it that a Boffin had used it as a kindling for a fire, and thanks to the very piece of paramagnet that Boffin and their family had survived the fowl weather and made it through the years of cold.

The Shire had after all seen much through the ages but none of the living residents had seen as much with their own eyes as Bilbo had. These were the years of peace, and for the rest of the Shire it was as if there never had been any trouble inside their borders (other than which outsiders had caused.) Bilbo of course knew better, he was well read. Flying through books of history and adventures, maps, anything at all. In the past he had had many arguments over who's relatives had done what in what event of whatever party and which Bolger had gone off and married which Took and so on. Whatever was the topic of the night at the Green Dragon, he's favourite drinking hole in whole of Shire (Mostly because it was the closest one.)

Not anymore. Bilbo had seen the world. Seen the wast wilderness and the long darkness of caves unlike any the Shire folk could imagine and even if he had tried to explain to them the halls of the Goblin King or the undeniable beauty of the Woodland Realm, they would have said that nothing beat their home, that their grandfather of whatever family was the greatest digger of them all. Or they would have said something like, "Have you seen my garden Mr. Baggins. I'll bet the hairs off my feet that if you saw my petunias, you'd not think twice of the lands outside our borders."

Likely though, they'd think him strange. That's what had mostly happened to him. Ever since he had returned—- he was a stranger. Almost as bad as an outsider. There were theories — he had heard— that he wasn't Bilbo at all, he was a duplicate. That the "real" Bilbo had been taken, or killed and some dwarf had shaved their beard and taken his place, living in Bag End in his place, and that wasn't even the strangest tale he had heard.

Hobbiton didn't feel much like home anymore anyway. The once beautiful green hills had lost their colour to him, the perfectly round bright coloured doors didn't excite him in their sheer perfection of woodwork either. In his mind he was still in the great halls of Erebor. Gazing upon the great stone halls that at first had seemed cold, lonely, even distant, but now seemed the most beautiful thing in the world. He could almost see the great throne room where perspective was lost and where everything was so big it seemed to have no measure at all. Beyond grief— beyond sorrow.

Thorin.

Bilbo set down his empty mug. He felt an ache. Every bone in his body hurt. Every muscle, every joint. To his very core he could feel pain, emptiness inside. Thorin. Just thinking of him felt like dying-

 _Thorin was lying on the ground passed out. Blood had long stopped staining his shirt and his breathing had evened. Slow but steady. Bilbo was trembling beside him, lying on the cold ground. Bilbo had gently placed his coat on Thorin and wrapped his scarf around his neck to keep the injured dwarf warm._

 _Bilbo looked at his hands which were bloodied. All around him he was aware of the battle still going on. They were winning he thought, or at least he was rather hoping they were. He didn't know much about war after all. Real battle was very much different from the glorified images and verses of his books._

 _In the distance, the eagles could be seen striking down the enemy up from the sky. Everything would be alright. Thorin would be fine. He had been wearing the Mithril shirt after all. The hobbit struggled to imagine if he had not convinced Thorin to take it in his stead._

 _Would he be looking at the dead body of his dear friend?_

* * *

If Bilbo imagined very carefully, and reached towards the ends of his mind he could almost feel his fingers now, brushing through Thorin's hair, comforting him like in his memory. Taking away his grief, the heavy burden on his shoulders. The pain of his wound, pain of loss and the sickness still inside him.

Now it was Thorin comforting him for a while, filling the ache in his heart. The hole in his chest that was smothering him, eating him alive. The thought of Thorin was the very thing keeping him going in this moment. All alone in the long corridors of Bag End. With the echoes of the dwarves laughing, drinking, talking in his home. The guest room he hadn't had the heart to clean up, which had been by some miracle been saved from the nosy eyes and greedy fingers of the hobbits of Shire (probably because of the horrid state of it. Drunk dwarves were not clean dwarves.)

Everything else he had cleaned, rearranged. Cleaned. Then rearranged again and again during the many slow, never ending months- just to have something to do. To keep his mind out of—- everything.

* * *

Today was the first eve of Yule. Even through the snow and the terrible weather Bilbo could see the faraway lights of Bywater and Hobbiton, hear faint music carried by the wind that howled so terribly in his chimney.

Bilbo would not celebrate. Not alone, and wouldn't go anywhere, he wasn't wanted anywhere. He had given up trying to invite people over- they never came, or going to the pub- he was left alone there. He was very much that; alone, with everyone he cared about hundreds of miles away.

It was hard now, to believe he had ever wanted to leave Erebor. To go back to his books, his armchair. To plant his tree. For now it all seemed for naught. Even his acorn. It had not been planted. He had not the heart to do so. To bury it. Instead he kept it close to his heart; there it reminded him better of everything, of everyone. Better than any tree, which every inch would have reminded him of the passing time. Every branch that would have meant one more day away from his last moment in Erebor, the last time he had looked into those deep blue eyes—-

"You're pathetic Bilbo Baggins!" Bilbo said to himself, "There is no way around it. You are pathetic and you need to stop right—" there was a knock on the door "—now?"

Bilbo quickly turned around to walk to the window. To try to make out who was at his door at this time of the night— or evening—- rather an afternoon; but it was already dark outside, which was a very good excuse to go to sleep early and call 5 a'clock a new midnight.

With the icy window everything blurred together, and even though the snow had stopped falling (mostly at least) it was hard to see anything through the thick layer of ice and snow.

The knocking repeated, firmer, more demanding this time.

"Whoever they are, they can go away." Bilbo decided

 _"They must be cold though… Hungry…"_ he argued against himself

"Exactly! They've come to 'borrow sugar'. If I let them in they'll pillage the pantry." he decided

 _"What if they freeze to death?"_ Bilbo wondered

"What if they've come to rob me!" he said heatedly, wanting to go and get more tea instead

 _"They knocked! Nobody who is going to rob you will knock you first."_

 ** _"Bilbo Baggins!"_** he shouted angrily and imitated Gandalf, (as most of the time he worked as the his voice of reason in his head anyway.)

"Very well, very well—- I'm coming!" the more Baggins side of him finally agreed.

Bilbo walked to the door hesitantly, Whoever was knocking seemed big— strong—- and very impolite.

 _Just open the door,_ he thought.

Bilbo put his hand on the handle carefully and twisted, the wind tore the door violently form his grip as he opened it and ripped it wide open, revealing a dark snowy figure right in front of him.

"Thorin."

* * *

I appreciate any feed back you have for me, and it would be the best gift in the if you'd take a minute or two to tell me your thoughts.

thank you!


	2. Everything Has Changed

_**CHAPTER II** , Everything Has Changed_

Bilbo stood nervously by the doorway as Thorin took off his snowy cloak.

"Boots as well please." Bilbo squeaked quickly as he saw the muddy and snowy boots the King was wearing, if he went around the house in those the mess would—-Thorin looked at the hobbit with amusement but did as he was told.

"Would you like some tea— biscuits. Umm—-" Bilbo added nervously, feeling his voice crack in ways it hadn't since his childhood, when he had courted his first (and only) lady-friend. The mere sight of the King suddenly made Bilbo lose every bit of dignity he had left. He knew exactly why. The hobbit sighed and looked at the dwarf. His hair was wet and curly, with strands of it falling on his reddened face. Reddened from the cold Bilbo deducted, Imagining a cold and shivering Thorin walking up the snowy pathway. Even the tip of his usually aristocratic nose was as red as an apple and shining just as bright. Still he held his posture and seemed taller than ever, confident and completely at ease. The exact opposite of what Bilbo was feeling.

Thorin.

Thorin was here.

Thorin was here—in Bag End.

Thorin was here, in Bag End, in front of him.

Thorin was— staring at him,

ah… yes, Bilbo batted his eyelashes sheepishly, "Sorry did you say something?" he spoke up clearing his throat.

 _Get a hold of yourself._

Bilbo met the dwarf's eyes properly for the first time, unsure what he'd see. Thorin was smiling, he seemed glad to see Bilbo. Which, now that he thought about it should not have felt so surprising. They were friends. They were good friends, Bilbo reminded himself as Thorin spoke, "It's good to see you Bilbo."

Exactly. Good friends—- and—

Bilbo felt his airsupply being cut of as Thorin locked him into a bone crushing hug,

he could hardly breath, but he had never felt better. Thorn was here, he was warm and healthy and here. Alive and well, but—-

"—-Why are you here?" he blurted out, instantly blushing, "I mean, why, why did you come, I'm glad but—Erebor?" he tried again. Silence.

Bilbo looked at Thorin, who was looking back at him intensely.

Another knock.

"You didn't come alone, did you." Bilbo sighed. He should've know, but he had never felt so glad to have a dozen dwarves running around his house.

Bilbo grinned at Thorin who was looking at him bemused and opened the door once again,

"Bilbo Baggins!" the Burglar heard Bofur say and before long he was taken into another bear hug. "It's wonderful to see you Bilbo." he said and let go.

Hugs went all around, everyone wanted one. Bofur went in for another one, then a third one all the while with Thorin standing by and watching Bilbo could barely breathe in-between.

Frases like, "Bilbo!" and "You look great Bilbo!" as well as "Good to see you!" were flying around the entrance hall, it was overwhelming. Everything he could have hoped for and more.

As the chaos slowly died down Bilbo noticed happily that the dwarves had all left their boots by the entrance and their outer clothes were in a nearly manageable pile almost and very close to where they were supposed to be. Bofur's hat was even thrown on the rack. The dwarves spread around the house, doing what they wanted, going everywhere and making noices that made Bilbo want to make sure all his plates were still intact. He felt overwhelmed. In manner of seconds he had gone from a low to such a high he hadn't felt in a long long time. They were all there, all of his friends except—

"Balin, Dwalin and Óin stayed behind, Fíli as well. There is a kingdom to run now." Thorin's voice spoke behind him like on a que,

Bilbo turned around and hugged himself, "Yes. I was wondering that. Since—- you are a king… I mean you always were but now you—- you have a kingdom." he said carefully, trying to make a sentence that made at least partly sense. It was turning out to be a harder task than it was supposed to be.

"Now I have Erebor. Finally. It's all coming together Bilbo. We are rebuilding, so quickly and to such extend I finally dared to leave for a while." Thorin said and took a step closer to Bilbo

"Leave your throne—- to visit me." the hobbit repeated sounding sarcastic to his own horror,

"Nothing has changed." Thorin took another step, he was close enough to reach for Bilbo's hand.

"Everything has changed—" Bilbo muttered "—I mean, everything—- I mean, there was nothing to change, I mean—what? I mean! why would anything have changed!" his pitch was so high by the end of the sentence his own ears hurt.

Thorin chuckled lowly, tracing the lines on the hobbit's palms. He looked straight into Bilbo's eyes.

Everything had changed.

* * *

 _Bilbo watched from the shadows as Thorin sat on his throne. It had been two weeks since the Battle. They had mourned their losses, crowned their king. Everything was coming together._

 _During the last two weeks Bilbo hadn't seen Thorin more than once, right before the coronation. Well, he had seen him. Everyday, but Thorin hadn't seen Bilbo. Not once since then. None of the company had had much time for the hobbit, if anything Bilbo felt that he was always in the way, when trying to talk to them they were always busy. "Rebuilding Erebor" "Cleaning the lower regions" "Going to a supply run", and when Bilbo asked to join them they always said that he should rest, take a nap. Eat._

 _He felt useless. He had done his part, now he was thrown away like a used toy that nobody wanted anymore. Of course he knew it wasn't true! Gandalf too had said he was being silly when he confronted the wizard about it._

 _Gandalf would be leaving soon. He had asked if Bilbo wanted to join him or stay here. He had immediately told the wizard he would be staying here, that Hobbitton wasn't going anywhere— now he wasn't so certain. He was beginning to miss his home again._

 _Bilbo had taken up walking again, a pastime he had come to love in the wast green of the Shire, and thought he would forever despise after walking from there to here, all the way, with blisters on his feet and smelly unappealing cuts and the strange bruises. The sheer exhaustion of it—- anyway. He had found it again; the joy of wandering around aimlessly, enjoying the view. Though the air could use improvement. It still smelled of dragon._

 _The high halls of Erebor, the cold stone and the runes written on the walls (which he had quickly learned to read, thank you very much—not that he'd tell any of the dwarves that.) some things were written in basic but some words were strange to him, he assumed them to be khuzdul—-he had even picked up on a few words, possibly, not that he would confirm them with anyone. There were dwarves everywhere now. Even during the nights the halls were filled. Bilbo saw with his own eyes as the empty and dead halls slowly came to life once again. There were dwarves hanging from the ceilings placing lights, climbing on the walls searching for cracks and always renovating some part of the structure. They were building short term columns to the collapsed areas, trying to get something done. It was wonderful to follow them at their work. No one questioned his presence in here, Thorin had made sure of that. He was allowed to see anything and everything, even things that Gandalf couldn't. Bilbo was almost one of the dwarves._

 _Except he wasn't. Aside from the occasional few words with a random by passer he hadn't talked to anyone but Gandalf and some elves that had dropped by. Gloin was the only one of the company to speak to him, to take time and visit him, but even his visits were brief as he was always called out somewhere else. Bilbo understood it, he understood why they were busy. He just wished he could help somehow, instead of feeling like the guest that had overstayed his welcome._

 _Every noon Bilbo would go and see Thorin as he sat on the throne, meeting with visitors from all over Middle Earth. He would watch as the King was pleasant to them, offered them help and bargained with them. Bilbo saw how he was changed. He was once again the Thorin he had known, or not quite. He was different too, he seemed much younger, more lighthearted, though he did not show it to anyone— Bilbo saw it. Bilbo saw the subtle changes in his posture, the easiness of his smile. Thorin had what he wanted, what he deserved and Bilbo was happy, he was so very happy for his friend— but._

 _Every day when he came back to see him he felt less joy, everyday part of it withered away. The immediate joy for the dwarves, he had felt when they had won was taken away piece by piece as he realised, he wasn't part of it. He had come to help them regain their home, but somewhere along the way the idea of Erebor as his home had rooted somewhere inside him. He hadn't realised it until he found out it would never happen. He hadn't realised it until he remembered he wasn't a dwarf. he wasn't special— he was just another Hobbit from Bag End. The people he had come to known as friends were royal. they were important and they were very busy._

 _Bilbo did not belong, without realising it themselves, his friends had shown him just that._

 _Today was his last day in Erebor._

 _Bilbo stood there alone, away from prying eyes. He watched from afar as Thorin used diplomatic skills he hadn't realised the dwarf had. Bilbo reached for his pocket, fiddled with his ring before putting it on. Disappearing into the world of the unseen. Becoming a true ghost he walked pass the people on the bridge towards the throne, walked pass Dwalin and Balin and Fíli. He walked to Thorin and looked at him. Thorin seemed happy. He shouldn't ruin that. Bilbo would just leave, not alerting any of them. Just slip by and return to Shire with the wizard. Leave his friends to their newly reclaimed home. They wouldn't notice he was gone for a while, and when they did they would just think "Oh Bilbo, what a hobbit. What a burglar he is, slipping by like that. What would we have done without him? He is probably sitting back in his armchair and reading, laughing at us for not even noticing he was gone."_

 _Yes, his last trick. Disappearing into thin air for good._

 _Bilbo chocked into his sadness. He quickly put a hand over his mouth to cover any noise he was making. He felt tears pour down his eyes, his vision blurring—He hadn't even realised he was—He couldn't stop—crying._

 _Bilbo took one last glance at Fili, Balin, then Dwalin—- and lastly, the king. Then he ran. He ran passed the confused people who wondered who had pushed them. He ran far, far until he was in his room, shut the door and ripped the ring off. Then he broke down, he let out all his pent up sadness and loneliness. Cried out for all the days he had wanted to spend with his friends, all the days he could have spent here with them. All the days lost and all the days he would spend alone in his home—reading his books—-sitting by the fire and thinking of_ him.

* * *

"Bilbo?" Thorin asked him slightly concerned, the Hobbit had been staring at him blankly for several minutes.

"Nothing!" he said quickly and rushed away red as a tomato.

Bilbo ran straight through his house to the furtherest corner of it: the guest room. He hadn't been there in a while. Only when he felt so lonely he couldn't breathe, and that hadn't happened in a while. Bilbo was used to the solitude, or he had been before he had left. He had slowly gotten used to it again, however this time it had been different. This time he was completely alone with no one visiting, other that that pitiful old lady that always walked all the way from Bywater just to see him. It seemed that she'd found out the situation he was in, which was the same one she had been stuck with ever since her husband died. Apparently marrying a Tuck had made her family disown her, they were a very no nonsense and no excitement sort of a family, the kind you'd only find in Bywater.

She was called Daffodil but through the mouths of the Shire folk she was mostly known as Dafty, which she knew rather well. She was a smart old lady and a welcome company in his solitude, though the way she spoke of her husband always brought Bilbo close to tears (which was rather embarrassing.) A grown hobbit weeping over lost love. Dafty seemed to appreciate it though so it was not all bad.

What was she doing right now, he wondered. Maybe he should go and check— It was not too late for a visit was it. Dafty would not mind if he just popped by quickly. No one would notice if he slipped away quickly. He would come back of course— sooner or later—

 _"Bilbo Baggins! What on earth are you thinking, you can't just leave. You don't want to leave. These are your friends. Are you a hobbit or are you a mouse!"_

Probably a bit of both…. he thought to himself and sat back down.

He just needed a little while to cool down. Take a few deep breaths, enjoy the company of his friends. Perhaps he had been alone for too long, starting to be afraid of the very idea of Thorin Oakenshield when there was no reason to. He had not done anything to him. None of them had done anything. Nothing at all, they hadn't even written a letter. Not for a whole year. Not a single letter to tell how they were doing—he understood that they did not have time to visit, but after weeks of ignoring him— maybe they had not noticed he was gone until now. Maybe they had thought he had been there the whole time. Could they really forget that easily.

 _"Stop overthinking things Bilbo, I'm sure there's a good reason for everything!"_

"Good reason for what?"

It was Bofur. Bilbo sighed and looked up at his friend, saying nothing at all,

"Thorin was looking for ye y'know. Said you'd gone'n disappeared on him again."

"Again?"

"You pulling that stunt of yer's. Goin' off without a word. You could've stayed, we had a place fer ye. Still do."

Bofur looked at the hobbit knowingly, sitting on a bunk opposite of him,

"Even if ye couldnae have stayed, you should've said something."

"What. What would I have said Bofur? See you later? bye for now? None of you saw me for two weeks before I left, I could already have left and none of you would've known any better. It was better that way."

"Better fer who. Bilbo. This room smells worse than it did before we left (if that's possible) That there in the corner is one o' Fili's socks he forgot tae pack. I know ye enough to tell ye should've cleaned this room at least 10 times in a year… More I'd say. I don' think you were ready to leave." Bofur told him standing up, making his way out.

"Bofur." Bilbo rushed up and caught up with him, "You always—I am sorry, to you."

The dwarf turned around and grinned at him brightly, "No need fer that! Come Bilbo, we're makin' supper!"

"I will, in a bit."

"You know, Thorin didnae eat properly for months after ye left." Bofur said before disappearing from the view.

* * *

Please do take time to write a review, even the smallest feedback makes my day. Thank you for reading!


	3. Helplessly in Love

Hey! I changed up the layout of Chapters II and III and moved the transition a bit, so you might want to recheck the previous chapter if you have read it before today (26/12/15) I made this chapter longer as well if you wondered why I reposted this.

Enjoy :)

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 _"You know, Thorin didnae eat properly for months after ye left." Bofur said before disappearing from the view._

* * *

 **CHAPTER III,** Helplessly in Love

Bilbo hadn't felt as merry as he did now since he had left. He had eaten his belly full, drank heartily with the dwarves, listened to their stories about Erebor, all was forgiven, he had never left and they had never forgotten him. It was as if the had never been apart. Kili told him eagerly about the elleth he had fancied while they had been locked away in Mirkwood. More often than not he had seen them talking together, simply choosing to ignore it. He was glad for the lad, he was head over heels in love and the elf, Tauriel, seemed to feel the same. It was nice that people even from different races, different background found each other—- Bilbo looked at Thorin who had remained silent for the most part of the evening, observing, listening to the stories. More often than not Bilbo had felt his eyes on him and resisted the temptation to glance back.

They had cleaned up the plates, which Bilbo was very grateful for, it was not often now-a-days that he got a meal served to him not having to do any of the work himself. He was glad though, that this time they hadn't thrown their plates around but done the whole thing carefully and without bursting into a song. He could feel the drinks were getting to his head, still he accepted the wine bottle Gloin shoved him as he shared drinks around.

Bilbo had already had at least four pints of ale, he was known for his bottomless stomach after all—- or used to be known, now he was known for other things—- what would a few glasses of red wine hurt. "Or, who needs a glass anyway", he thought and drank straight from the bottle. Oh if the gossips of Hobbitton found out! Bilbo giggled at the thought.

Blue eyes were looking at him. Once again following his every move so Bilbo decided to drink some more. Why stop now he thought happily and drank as much as he could with a three four big gulps. He smiled lazily at everyone and decided he should go out for a bit. Maybe take his pipe as well.

The drunked halfling managed to keep his posture well enough that none of the dwarves seemed to question him, they themselfs were quite well drunk as well though, he thought as he wrapped a scarf around his neck. It was hot now. He was sweating. It was nice, everything was nice. Nice was a nice word as well. If you put an m there instead of n—

"Are you sure that is a good idea?"

"It's mice— I mean, nice—-No?"

Thorin sighed as he walked to the curly haired burglar, he pried the wine bottle of his hands, taking a good swig as well before putting it aside and began to untangle the scarf that Bilbo had tried to put on.

"Never ceases to amaze me." Thorin muttered as he finally got the scarf safely off the hobbit's neck. "Perhaps you should lie down my friend." he suggested and began to lead Bilbo to his bedroom,

"My friend?"

"Are you not my friend?"

"No." Bilbo said stubbornly, they weren't friends. They hadn't been friends for a long time. They were something—else.

"Sit." Thorin told him as they reached the bedroom,

"No." Bilbo put his foot down.

"Sit down you foolish hobbit! You can barely stand, I do not wish to see you hurt." the Dwarf finished more gently, guiding his hobbit on the bed.

Bilbo yawned and rubbed his eyes,

"Since when has my house been this shaky." he muttered and lied down on his pillow.

Thorin smiled as he watched Bilbo's eyes became heavy and he slowly sank into his bed, falling asleep before his eyes.

"I have missed you." Thorin said quietly, kissing the hobbit's brow before taking his leave.

* * *

"Where's Bilbo?" Ori asked next morning as Thorin walked in to the parlour and took out his pipe.

"He is sleeping in the backroom." Thorin mused, smiling to himself. He had not felt this relaxed in a long while. No crown was weighting on his brow, no one was asking him about politics. No wars, no worries. It was as if they were back to the time before the Quest and while he felt marvellously at ease, there was a part of him that longed back to Erebor again, part of him that worried about the kingdom and about Fíli. How was he faring with his new found responsibly. Of course Thorin trusted his sister-son completely and with Dwalin and Balin at his side he would do just fine. If he could, Thorin would just like to relax, to find out what had happened.

Bilbo, he had known the hobbit for under a year; yet he made him feel things—things he had never felt before in all his life. During his time of sickness, Bilbo had been the only one who made him feel like he was himself again, his only glimpses of reality in the glimmering and golden world he had sunk into. When Bilbo had left—-there were moments—- moments when Thorin could feel the call of the gold again. He had not told anyone, not wanting to worry his friends or to give his enemies any angles. Every time he felt the pull of the gold he would pull out the scarf Bilbo had left behind and it would bring him back, but each time it became harder, each time he would have a harder time remembering the hobbit's face clearly. He wasn't smiling at him anymore, by the anniversary of him leaving, all Thorin could recall was his terrified face when he had almost been killed, by Thorin himself. That was when he had decided to leave. Knowing it would not only make him better but benefit the dwarves of Erebor as well. In only a week the arrangements were made, instructions given and the company had left for Hobbitton.

"Tea Thorin, would you like a cup?" Dori asked him as he made his way towards the table. Kili was no where to be seen but other than that all of the dwarves were sitting around it, some yawning, some like Ori holding their head. It was early Thorin reckoned, sun had yet to rise and the only light was from two barely living candles, both in their very last hours of life.

"Thank you Oin." he nodded and broke a piece of bread for himself. The mood was comfortably tired and very cozy. He felt calm and happy, how could he not? Seeing Bilbo had given him new energy he had not realised he desperately needed. Too soon they wold leave though. Too soon he would say goodbye once more. Unless—

* * *

Bilbo yawned loudly as he arrived to the dining room, wrapped in his bathrobe, hair sticking out into every direction. He yawned again as he sat down on a chair by the table, muttering a tired good morning to the only other person in the room, probably in the entire Bag End. Sun had risen up a while ago and gave the room a cold wintery glow.

"The others went out to get some decorations and food for tonight. We are going to have a proper Yule celebration." the other resident, Thorin told Bilbo, who was busy staring somewhere into the distance, trying to keep his eyes open.

"Oh. How did they get through the snow?" the hobbit asked after a long pause,

"Kili cleaned the path earlier. Would you like some breakfast?"

Bilbo mumbled back something that sounded like eggs and toast please, at least Thorin hoped he understood him.

As Bilbo remained in the space between awake and asleep Thorin decided to get up and cook breakfast for the hobbit. He headed to the pantry which to his delight wasn't completely empty from last night. He found two eggs, some tomatoes and beans—briefly wondering how the hobbit could have such things in midwinter— no bacon though. All of the meat had been eaten, even the small bird looking creatures that had been hanging from the ceiling previous night. Bombur was likely at fault for it, he had vowed to eat everything at sight by the time they had reached Shire's borders.

A fire was still going in the fireplace in the kitchen so Thorin cracked the eggs on the frying pan and cooked away. He hummed an old Mahalmerag song (the dwarvish version of Yule) as he sliced up the tomatoes and put them and the beans on the pan next. While they cooked he added a bit of salt at the top of the sunny side up eggs and found a fork and knife as well. Unfortunately there was no toast left so he simply cut a few pieces from a loaf of bread and placed them on a plate next to the eggs.

It had been too long since he had cooked anything, ever since his crowning he had had others to do such things for him. It was something he still wasn't used to; being served was not something that came naturally to him anymore.

Thorin put the beans and tomatoes on another plate and served them for the hobbit. Only then did Bilbo finally notice the pleasant smell of breakfast and lifted his head from the table where he had fallen asleep once more. Thorin handed him a fork and told him to eat.

"You cooked me breakfast." Bilbo stated,

"All signs would point to that, yes." Thorin said jokingly, feeling uncomfortable in the spot.

The hobbit mumbled a thank you before digging in. It was good, very good. Almost better than how he cooked himself, almost. Bilbo had hard time imagining Thorin cooking in his kitchen, wishing he had seen it. He liked the idea. The idea of Thorin being here everyday, and him cooking first breakfast then Bilbo cooking the second one. Eating together. Living together. Becoming used to each others annoying little habits, bickering about some small meaningless thing. Falling asleep next to each other—

Bilbo shook away these thoughts, his mind was once more getting ahead of itself. Giving him false hope of a life together with the King. Because that he was; the King Under the Mountain. What king would leave his kingdom and people. Leave his duties. Certainly not Thorin. Bilbo would not want him to, he would not have him giving up on the most important thing to him, he would not want that. He rather lived alone imagining Thorin happily ruling his halls, rebuilding his finally found home. To even tease the idea of taking all of that away from Thorin, it broke Bilbo's heart even more than the idea of living alone for the rest of his life, with just his memories and the longing in his heart.

There was nothing to be done. Bilbo was helplessly in love with Thorin Oakenshield, he had known that for a long time. Now he his stomach had fallen in love with his cooking as well, which was probably even worse.

* * *

If you have any thought and/or ideas, please do share them with me. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. I will probably write one to three chapters more depending on where these two will take the story to, wherever it may go the next chapter will have the long awaited Yule party and perhaps a few other long awaited events as well... Once again, Merry Christmas everyone!


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